


climbing the primordial

by QuickYoke



Series: an argument of witches [5]
Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 06:30:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14182941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickYoke/pseuds/QuickYoke
Summary: Andy brings Miranda home for Easter to meet her parents for the first time. A direct sequel to 'violante in the pantry'





	climbing the primordial

_ “Yes. It is the witch’s life,  _

_ climbing the primordial climb, _

_ a dream within a dream,  _

_ then sitting here  _

_ holding a basket of fire.” _ __  
_  
_ __ — Anne Sexton, “The Witch’s Life” 

 

* * *

* * *

Miranda lowered her chin, peering over the rims of her glasses at the house. Squeezed along a line of identical two-story structures, nothing could set it aside from the row of other houses apart from a lick of blue paint. A thin layer of snow blanketed the ground, obscuring the gravel path leading to the porch, and overhead the sky was slung with a blanket of grey cloud. When Miranda sighed, her breath misted in a white, smoke-like plume. There was a crisp taste to the air. It nipped at Andy’s toes even through her boots and thick woollen socks. She stamped her feet against the cold, but it was a reflective action. The cold didn’t warrant stamping just yet. Though if they stayed out here any longer, staring at her grandfather’s house, Andy might just start complaining. 

Not that either of them were particularly keen to go inside. Even though this was entirely Andy’s idea in the first place. It was going to be fine, she told herself for the fifth time since she woke up this morning with a nest of snakes in place of her stomach. Everything was going to be fine.

“God,” Miranda groaned softly in that martyred way of hers that let Andy know just how put upon she was by this whole charade. She tilted her head back and pushed her spectacles up her nose. “I haven't had to meet the in-laws since my first marriage.”

Andy tried not to stare at her, but the shock of what Miranda had implied by that statement was clearly written all over her face, for Miranda’s cheeks flushed.

“That's not what I meant, and you know it,” Miranda snapped. She gave a haughty little toss of her head for good measure.

“I didn't say anything,” Andy said quickly, trying and failing to school her features into something neutral, something that wouldn't give off a glow at the mere idea that Miranda considered this relationship akin to a marriage. Even so, she couldn't help but add, “Still glad, though.”

Miranda pursed her lips and squinted at Andy with suspicion, before turning her disapproving gaze back upon the hapless house. Then, when Andy was about to suggest they actually go inside, Miranda announced, “We are  _ not _ getting married.”

“We -?  _ What?” _

To hell with subtlety, now. Andy gaped at her.

Meanwhile, Miranda pretended to fix her wrist-length black leather gloves, which were perfect and didn't need her attention. “Honestly, Andrea, after two divorces and a world of disappointment, how could you ever think yet another marriage was something I would want?”

The warm feeling in Andy's stomach vanished in a flash, like water vanishing into sudden steam. A few flakes of snow drifted from the sky. Mouth moving, Andy floundered for words before she finally burst out, “Well, have you ever thought about what  _ I _ want?”

Miranda jerked as if slapped. When she turned to look at Andy, her eyes had gone wide behind her glasses. For a long silent moment they stared at one another, Andy with fuming incredulity, and Miranda leaning away as if afraid she would suddenly catch an airborne disease.

Miranda was the one to break the tense silence. “If this is your idea of a proposal –”

Outraged, Andy spluttered, “I wasn't the one who brought up -!” She cut herself off, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her tone was curt and her fists clenched, but at least her voice wasn't raised, “We're not having this conversation right now. We're going inside.” Miranda tried to speak, but Andy – eyes still closed – continued talking over her, “We're going inside, and I'm going to introduce you to my parents and my grandad, and we're going to eat a nice meal. Okay?”

Miranda didn't say anything. When Andy opened her eyes once more, it was to find Miranda staring at the house and chewing her lower lip. She tugged at her gloves with a nervous sort of energy, before breathing in sharply through her nose and saying, “The insulation in that roof needs replacing.” She gestured towards the patches of melted snow along the roof, and the line of icicles clinging to the eaves. 

“The roof is fine.” Andy stomped towards the front door. “Come on.”

After a few steps, Miranda still didn't follow. Beneath the layer of snow, the gravel walkway crunched underfoot, and with a sigh Andy stopped and turned around. “What, Miranda?”

“Aren't we going a little fast?” Miranda asked, all but wringing her hands with all that fiddling with her gloves.

Andy rolled her eyes, planting her fists on her hips. “We've been dating for a year, and we’re only just moving in together.”

“Yes, but –”

“Don't tell me you're afraid of a few muggles.”

Now, that put some steel in Miranda's spine. She straightened with an affronted air, a sneer pulling at one corner of her mouth. “Don't be ridiculous.”

“I'm not the one being ridiculous,” Andy fired back.

Miranda pursed her lips. She remained still for a moment, tense, until finally she started forward in a flurry of sudden motion. Her strides were long, and her dark wizarding robes whipped in her wake. Together they climbed the steps. As they stood before the front door, it was Andy's turn to pause. While Andy silently scolded herself for not immediately ringing the doorbell – this was getting ridiculous – Miranda brushed her hands down the front of her robes.

“I should have worn muggle clothes,” Miranda muttered under her breath, even though she’d confessed to not having worn muggle clothes since the age of thirteen.

Andy sighed. They'd had this discussion a few days ago, when she'd found Miranda in the den of the townhouse, scowling at a muggle fashion magazine in her lap. “Do people really wear this?” she'd asked, a sneer pulling at her upper lip. “Look at this one.” She’d jabbed her finger at the photo of a girl swaddled in a baggy wrap. “What a shapeless cut. Whoever Marc Jacobs is, he needs to pull his head in.”

“Just wear your robes,” Andy had insisted even as she’d looked at the glossy spread over Miranda's shoulder. “You'll be more comfortable that way.”

With a grunt, Miranda had flipped the page. “That doesn't mean I can't - oh! This one isn't so bad.” She’d raised her eyebrows and given an appreciative tilt of her head at a picture of a young woman wearing a striking silver and black Dior dress. 

Trust Miranda to only like muggle haute couture.

Now, Andy just rang the doorbell, and said, “You look great. You always look great.”

“You always say that,” Miranda grumbled, though she did give up any last minute adjustments to her clothes and resigned herself to her choice. 

“Because it’s always true.”

“Hmph.”

The door opened, and there Andy's dad stood in a scratchy striped sweater, the hint of a collared shirt peeking up around his neck. He smiled warmly at Andy in greeting, and immediately pulled her in for a hug. “Hey there, champ. Glad you could make it.”

Andy smiled against his shoulder, allowing herself a moment to enjoy the familiar childhood smell of his clothes before stepping back and beaming at him. “Glad to be here.”

He rubbed his hands against her upper arms and let go. Turning his attention to Miranda, Richard opened his mouth to speak, but paused. His eyes widened when he took in Miranda’s appearance for the first time. Miranda looked as she always did: sleek and poised in her high-throated robes that were clasped with her signature emerald jewel, sharp-eyed and sharp-tongued and sharply dressed as a Victorian governess. To Andy’s trained eye however, Miranda’s clenched jaw and clenched hands showed her nerves, her discomfort around people — especially new people, and  _ especially _ important-to-please new people. Miranda could charm the hat off a leprechaun when she put her mind to it, but Andy knew scenarios like this were the stuff of Miranda’s nightmares. It was one thing to shake the hands of dignitaries and celebrities from across the world and pretend to remember their names, but this was something else entirely. 

Andy’s father tried smiling, but it came off as forced. He stuck his hand out. “You must be Miranda.”

Miranda smiled at him in that guarded way of hers, as if holding crushed glass behind her teeth. Then, reluctant, she tugged off one of her gloves and offered Richard one of her trademark limp handshakes. Andy winced at the startled look on her dad’s face. She’d been on the receiving ends of Miranda’s limp handshake only once before — at a charity ball back when Andy had still been working for Miranda at  _ The Wand and the Way —  _ and it had been one of the biggest social turn-offs she had ever experienced. Somehow, Andy suspected Miranda practised it just so people would let go of her hand as quickly as possible. 

Richard however, gamely continued to shake her hand. “Nice to meet -” 

Suddenly he stopped and scowled. Miranda froze, her hand still held in his, and the expression on her face could only be described as queasy. Then, abruptly Richard let go of her hand and stepped around her, walking across the porch to lean against the balustrade and peer at the eaves. “Damn,” he muttered, frowning at the icicles, “I had a feeling the roof insulation would need fixing.” 

“You don’t say?” Miranda removed her other glove and aimed a smug little look at Andy, who rolled her eyes. 

“Dad, come on, you can fix the roof later.” Leaning down to unlace her boots, Andy knocked loose the snow clumped in the soles before stepping out of them and moving inside. 

“Right! Sorry!” Fixing a smile back in place, Richard held his arm out in a gracious gesture for Miranda to enter the house before him. She gave a brief incline of her head in thanks, but as she crossed the threshold, he said, “Oh! Shoes off, please! We don’t want to track snow through the house.”

With only a small grimace, Miranda leaned in the doorway to unlace her heeled boots and place them just inside the threshold. Immediately she sank down a few more inches, the shortest among them by far. Richard entered behind her and shut the door, trapping out the cold. “Make yourself at home.”

In response, Miranda took a hesitant step further into the house, reluctant to move too far away from Andy and be caught alone. She did however, remove her glasses, vanishing them with an idle twirl of her fingers and a snake-like eddy of smoke. When Richard stared at her, she blinked at him. 

“What?” Miranda asked, her tone cautious.

“Nothing!” Andy’s dad said. “We’re just still not used to — uh —  _ that.”  _

Andy came to his defense. “I tend to not do so much magic around my family, since, you know, only my parents are allowed to know. Statute of Secrecy, and all that.”

Miranda appeared taken aback. “Oh,” she said. “And today -?”

“It’s alright,” Andy assured her as she shucked her jacket and hung it in the nearby closet. “Just make sure my grandad doesn’t see anything, and we should be good.”

Miranda nodded sharply. Meanwhile, Richard held out his hand, “Can I take your -” he motioned towards her heavy velvet-lined cloak, “-cape?”

She cleared her throat and mumbled out a ‘thank you’ as she unclasped her cloak and handed it along with her gloves to Richard, who stowed it away beside Andy’s muggle coat.  

While her dad was still rummaging through the closet, Andy put a hand on the small of Miranda’s back to gently steer her towards the living room. “This way. Hey, grandad!”

In the living room, the little fireplace crackled with heat. Frank Sachs sat in his usual armchair in the far corner near the fireplace, smoking a narrow cigar and watching television in jeans and a threadbare flannel shirt. He tipped his head back to peer from beneath his ratty old baseball cap — the same one Andy could remember him wearing since forever — and he had to squint through his overlarge glasses. When he saw who it was that greeted him, he balanced his cigar on a nearby ashtray, and gestured for Andy to approach. “Come here. I can’t get up for hugs so easy these days.”

Andy crossed the living room to lean over him for a hug. His hands shook with age as he patted her back. The moment she stepped away, he reached for his cigar again. The end burned, coal-bright. 

“Grandad,” Andy stepped aside to let him have a better look at Miranda, who hovered a few steps away in the centre of the living room, studying her surroundings with a veiled expression. “This is Miranda.”

He grunted around his cigar, reaching up to tilt back his tattered old baseball cap with one gnarled hand. “That's right. I'd heard Andy got herself a girlfriend.”

If anything, Miranda seemed affronted at being given so plebian a title as  _ 'girlfriend’  _ which, given their recent conversation in the yard, made Andy bristle with indignation.  _ The gall! _ Still Miranda nodded politely in his direction and murmured, “Pleased to meet you.” Or at least she would have, had Frank not interrupted.

“So, are you the girl’s mother?” he asked.

Miranda stiffened. “Excuse me?”

Andy bit her bottom lip to keep from groaning. Two minutes in and already this. Before he could say anything else disastrous, she rushed to say, “No. No, this is her. My - uh -” she choked on the term  _ ‘girlfriend’  _ when Miranda shot her a poisonous look, and instead said, “My significant other.”

Even after a year, they hadn’t really settled on what to call one another. When speaking to her parents over the phone, which didn’t happen as often as she’d might like — her parents still weren’t too keen on asking after Miranda, as if pretending she didn’t exist would make it a reality — Andy referred to her as “Miranda” and nothing more. Nobody in their mutual circles asked for further clarification, and it was always implicitly understood that they were an item whenever Miranda introduced Andy to colleagues with a warm hand on Andy’s arm and a simple, “This is Andrea.” And that was that. 

_ ‘Significant other’  _ hadn’t seemed to offend Miranda however, who just blinked. Meanwhile, Andy’s grandfather looked between the two of them, realisation dawning on his face. Rather than appear taken aback, his beard twitched, hiding a smile, and he raised the cigar to his mouth once more. Behind his thick round glasses, his eyes sparkled with amusement. “Never thought I’d live to see the day Andy brought home a cradle-snatcher.” He even tipped his hat in Miranda’s direction.

The words sank in, and Miranda slowly flushed an ugly shade of red. He might as well have stamped out the tip of his smouldering cigar on the back of her hand. 

“Ah -! Uhm -!” Andy scrambled for something to do or say to keep Miranda from whipping out her wand and vaporising her grandfather on the spot. She settled on grabbing Miranda’s arm and steering her away from Frank. “Dad!” she called out desperately, “Where’s mom?”

“Kitchen!” Andy’s mom replied, her voice faint from around the corner. 

As Andy dragged Miranda in that direction, Miranda’s colouring began to fade back to its normal shade, though her teeth remained clenched, and her eyes flashed. The look was lethal enough to send a jolt of heat straight from Andy’s stomach to groin, and she bit her lower lip. Of all the times to want to jump Miranda…

Before they could enter the kitchen, Richard rounded the corner, unintentionally blocking their escape from Andy’s grandad. “Would you like something to drink?” he offered. “We have wine?”

With as much grace as she could muster, Miranda instead resigned herself to remaining in the living room. She sank down onto the faded leather couch and said, “Coffee.” Then after a pause, she added, “Please.”

Looking like the spitting image of a panicked host, Richard glanced over his shoulder towards the kitchen. “We - uh - We have tea?” 

“Oh,” Miranda said, her disappointment obvious. “Well –”

Taking pity on the both of them, Andy pulled out her wand and said, “Don’t worry, dad. I got it.” 

Carefully checking over her shoulder that her grandfather was still engrossed with the television, Andy pulled her wand from the inner lining of her jacket. After one too many times of nearly losing the damn thing, she’d gone through her wardrobe — even her muggle clothes — and hand sewn patches into the linings to act as hidden pockets. Not that it had stopped her wand from continuing to make its daring escapes. Somehow it would wriggle its way through even the smallest gap in her poor stitch-work. With a flick of her wand, Andy summoned Miranda’s preferred coffee and sent it floating over to her. Reaching up to cup the glass mug between her hands, Miranda didn’t say  _ ‘thank you’  _ but she did shoot Andy a grateful look over a waft of steam. In answer, Andy sat down beside her on the couch and patted her thigh in a reassuring manner. 

As usual, the sight of even the simplest of magic in action made Richard’s eyes widen. He watched in awe as Andy tucked her wand away once more, and Miranda sipped at her coffee as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. 

“I’ll -” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, “I’ll be right back. Drink, Andy?”

Normally Andy would have asked for a beer, but today she shook her head with a smile. “I’m good. Thanks, dad.”

He met her smile with a weak one of his own before darting another apprehensive look at Miranda, who was ignoring him in favour of eyeing the television on the wall. Then, he rounded the corner to the kitchen. Andy could hear his low voice mingle with that of her mother’s, but she did her best not to eavesdrop. Instead, she turned to give Miranda an encouraging smile. Miranda simply raised her eyebrows in return, and took another sip of her coffee. 

“You’re doing great.” Andy tried to keep her voice bright and chipper, but even to her own ears it sounded strained. 

“Mmm,” Miranda hummed, glancing at a clock hanging on the wall. No doubt she was already counting down the minutes until they could leave. “Your parent’s house is not what I imagined.”

“Oh, it’s not my parent’s house! This is my grandad’s house.”

“I see.”

Fiddling with her fingers in her lap, Andy explained, “My grandad used to own the family farm outside of Cincinnati, but it was too much work for him to keep up by himself after my grandma died. So, my parents took over, and my grandad moved here into the city, where my cousins and aunts can look after him.”

Miranda slanted her eyes in Frank’s direction, but after their disastrous first exchange of words, she did made no attempt to include him in the conversation, and he made no attempt to join it either. Miranda lifted the mug to her lips once more. “I thought your mother was a British citizen? Or does your entire family live in the majestic state of Ohio?”

Andy elected to ignore the jab at her home state, and instead answered, “My maternal grandmother was born in London, but eloped to America with my grandad when they were young.”

“The stuff of scandals, I imagine.” Miranda smirked. 

Andy nodded. “Yup. But, hey! It got me into Hogwarts! And without that I never would’ve met you.”

At that, Miranda regarded Andy closely, silently. Her eyes roved across Andy’s face, before she said, “Perhaps we should track them down.”

Blinking in surprise, Andy chuckled, incredulous. “Why?”

“So I can send them a thank you card,” Miranda replied, her tone dry. 

Richard and Elizabeth both entered the living room to the sound of Andy’s laughter and the sight of Miranda’s self-satisfied smirk. Both quickly vanished when they walked forward together, each of them holding glasses of red wine. Immediately, Andy stood to greet her mother, moving forward to hug her. Elizabeth passed her glass to Richard in order to hug her daughter properly, wrapping both arms around Andy’s shoulders. 

“Oh, it’s good to see you again,” Elizabeth said, stepping back to get a good look at her daughter. “Have you been eating enough?”

“I’ve been eating fine,” Andy insisted with a smile.

With a sniff, Elizabeth took her wine from her husband. “All that magic at your fingertips, and you can’t even visit us more often.”

“What -!” Andy spluttered. “I offered! I always offer to come by! Dad even refused to come by anything but plane last time!”

Her mother shot Andy a teasing grin and patted her arm. “I know, honey. Now, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Oh! Yeah!”

Andy turned to Miranda, who was already searching for a coaster upon which to place her drink on the coffee table. There was none to be found, and, utterly flummoxed, Miranda rose from the couch still clutching her coffee mug. She tried to smile when she shook Elizabeth’s hand, but it came off as a grimace. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yes.” Elizabeth let go of Miranda’s hand as soon as possible, obviously as discomfited by Miranda’s limp handshake as her husband had been. “Thank you for coming out all this way.”

“Not at all,” Miranda demurred. 

Frank’s voice interrupted the pleasantries. “Can you all sit down already?” he craned his neck to get a better look at the television around where they were congregating in the centre of the living room. “I can’t see a damn thing.”

Andy’s mom gave Frank an exasperated look. “Dad!” she scolded. “You shouldn’t be smoking in the house!”

Andy’s grandad exhaled a plume of smoke in his daughter’s direction. “I'm ninety-one years old, Liz. I'll smoke wherever I god damn like.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Fine, dad.”

Meeting Miranda’s eye, Andy jerked her head back towards the couch and together the two of them sat again. Only one armchair remained between Richard and Elizabeth. The two of them exchanged looks, and afterwards Richard retired to the couch beside Andy, while Elizabeth sat in the armchair. The television flickered with images — desaturated scenes from the sixties and seventies that Andy didn’t recognise apart from a vague identification of famous actors and actresses. Miranda rearranged the long hems of her robes so that they fell, heavy, around her ankles, draping gracefully from her knees. Andy’s mom and dad shifted in their country comfort clothes, clearly feeling outclassed, which — when Andy thought about it — was what Miranda had both wanted and been afraid of.

“So -” Andy started. 

Her mom started speak at the same time. “So, Miranda! What do you do? Andy mentioned you were a famous inventor of sorts?”

Looking between the both of them, Miranda drummed her fingers against the side of the mug, tonguing the inside of her cheek before answering, “I am a master wandmaker.”

“Right.” Richard nodded as if he had any clue what that meant. (He didn’t). 

“Sounds impressive,” Elizabeth muttered as she took a sip of wine.

“Yes! It’s a tenant of wizarding magic, and-!” Andy started to say, but couldn’t quite find the words to impart just how impressive it was to her muggle parents. Instead, she trailed off with a mumbled, “It’s important.” 

Miranda shot her an incredulous look, to which Andy could only reply with a helpless shrug.

“And what exactly does it mean to be a master wandmaker?” Andy’s dad asked.

“I make wands,” Miranda said in that bland  _ ‘you’re an idiot’  _ voice that Andy recognised all too well. 

Boy, she really wished she’d accepted her father’s offer of a drink. With a nervous laugh, Andy added, “And basically leads an industry dedicated to ancient magical lore.”

“That must keep you busy,” Elizabeth said. “Andy’d mentioned you had kids. How old are they, again?”

“They turn fourteen this year,” Miranda answered.

“And they were from your — second marriage, was it? Or third?”

“Mom!” Andy barked.

Rather than rise to the bait however, Miranda smiled at Andy’s mom in a way that made Elizabeth’s eyes widen. “My first marriage,” Miranda said in that syrup sweet tone she reserved solely for sycophants and utter morons. Andy tried not to cringe. “The girls visit their father over Easter, else I would have brought them with us. But maybe next time?”

If anything, Andy’s mother seemed flummoxed by the notion that Miranda thought there would be a next time, and that such an event warranted bringing her own children along. Elizabeth stumbled for a response, and Miranda watched her with a wicked gleam in her eye. 

Finally Elizabeth managed to say, “That — That would be lovely. Wouldn’t it be lovely, Richard?”

“Uhm -” Richard said. 

“I can see where you inherit your remarkable elocution,” Miranda smirked at Andy as she took a sip of coffee. 

If Andy hadn’t been so mortified by the turn in conversation, she would’ve bit back a laugh. As it was, she merely gave Miranda her very best faux glare. Miranda blinked innocently, or at least tried to; she couldn’t quite hide her grin behind the mug.

“Of course!” Andy’s dad cleared his throat. “Of course. That would be — uh — Andy, are you sure you don’t want a glass of wine or -?”

Andy schooled her features. “I’m fine. Thanks, dad.”

“Liz?” he turned to his wife, who was already holding out her own glass for a refill. 

As Richard trundled off to the kitchens, Elizabeth turned to Andy’s grandfather, “Dad, can we please change the channel?”

In answer, Frank shuffled the remote to the other arm of his chair, safely out of his daughter's reach.

“Really, dad?” Elizabeth rolled her eyes in exasperation. 

He tapped the ashen end of his cigar into the worn old ceramic ashtray on the coffee table beside his chair.  _ “The Ghost and Mrs. Muir _ is coming on in two minutes.” 

At the name of the show, Miranda darted a sudden curious look at the screen mounted atop the bookcase. She frowned when the channel started to advertise the show in question. When Andy gave her a quizzical look, Miranda merely shrugged, her expression relaxing once more. “My father loved that show. I remember watching reruns of it when I was young. Five or six years old maybe?”

“Never heard of it,” Andy said.

“Finally, an indication that you have some taste,” Miranda replied dryly, and Andy nudged her shoulder for her sass. As the character screen started to roll, Miranda just gave her a mischievous look. “There’s hope for you yet.”

Andy shrugged. “Yeah well, I was always more of an Addams Family kind of gal.”

Miranda sighed, “I take back everything I said.”

Andy stuck out her tongue, which only seemed to amuse Miranda all the more. Both of the corners of Miranda’s mouth were curled up, and her gaze glinted in a way that — in any other circumstance — would have had Andy pulling her into a corner for a furtive kiss. 

Elizabeth was watching them with an expression Andy couldn’t place. Neither could Miranda, it would seem, for her eyes suddenly hardened, and her fingers curled tightly round the coffee mug, growing tight-lipped and guarded once more. 

_ “Stop acting like an adolescent! If you’ve got something to say, say it!”  _ Hope Lange demanded on screen, glaring at the possessed portrait of a dead ship’s captain. When the portrait did not reply, she swept a hand through her pale hair and sniffed,  _ “Well, if there’s anything I hate, it’s a cowardly ghost.” _

“Dad, can you  _ please  _ turn down the volume?” Elizabeth groaned.

Miracle of miracles, Frank reached for the remote — and turned up the volume a few more ticks.

Elizabeth’s eyebrows came together in a sharp furrow, and she huffed in irritation. Before she could berate her father once more, Richard returned bearing a platter of hors d’oeuvres. Normally Andy would’ve snacked on the little sandwiches to her heart’s content, but today she could only bear to finish one. The conversation jerked forward in jolts that never seem to come to fruition. Andy’s grandfather finished one cigar and immediately lit another. Smoke curled in the air, with Miranda growing more reticent by the second, Andy growing more nervous, and the television program growing louder. 

“We’ve converted a quarter of the land for dairy use,” Elizabeth was saying.

“Cows? Really?” Andy smiled in disbelief. “I can’t imagine you working with cows, mom.”

“They can’t be all that different from tomatoes,” her mom joked dryly. “Besides, it was your father’s idea.”

“Dairy is growing! You just watch! It’ll be great.” Richard defended himself. 

Elizabeth reached over to pat his knee. “Don’t worry, honey. When it all goes south, at least we can sell them off for meat.”

Andy snorted with laughter. She snuck a glance at Miranda, but Miranda was fidgety and kept dividing her attention between Andy’s parents and the television screen.

_ “I’ve met my match in you. How sad-”  _ Edward Mulhare mused over a sleeping Hope Lange. The show, Andy decided, really hadn’t aged that well,  _ “-that you were not born in my time, nor I in yours.” _

Clearing her throat, Miranda stood. “Excuse me,” she murmured, and placed her mug on the coffee table with a gentle click of ceramic against scuffed wood. 

As she swept from the room, heading towards the hallway adjacent to the kitchen, Andy said, “The bathroom’s the third door on the left.” To which Miranda paused only long enough to nod in understanding before continuing on her way. 

“She’s a little,” Andy’s mom scrunched up her nose as she watched Miranda leave, “ _ cold,  _ isn’t she?”

Andy tried very hard not to bristle, but failed. “She’s nervous.”

“ _ She’s  _ nervous?” Andy’s dad said. “Last I checked, I couldn’t turn people into toads.”

Andy rolled her eyes. “I can turn you into a toad, too.”

“Yeah, but I trust you’ll make me a handsome toad.”

“You’re already a handsome toad, honey,” Elizabeth said, patting her husband’s cheek.

He feigned outrage. “Hey!”

“Seriously though.” Andy snuck a quick glance towards the hallway to check if Miranda was coming back. She wasn’t. “You guys haven’t exactly been sunshine and rainbows yourself.” Elizabeth looked like she was about to protest, but Andy cut her off, “Mom, come on. You’ve already made several jabs, and we haven’t even sat down for dinner!”

With a guilty shrug, Elizabeth sipped at her wine. “I was just asking questions. Am I not allowed any information regarding my daughter’s... _ significant other?”  _ She made a face at the word, but looked guilty afterwards when she met Andy’s stricken gaze. “Oh, honey -”

“Just -!” Andy breathed in deeply and ran a hand through her hair. “Just please try to be nice. She’s trying. She really is.”

“If you say so,” Elizabeth said, sounding dubious. 

Andy glared.

Her mom fidgeted in her seat, then relented. “Oh, alright. Alright! No more questions!”

“You can ask questions, just don’t be passive aggressive about the whole thing.”

“I’m never passive aggressive!”

Andy shared a long-suffering look with her dad, who was biting his lower lip to keep from grinning. 

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at both of them. To the side, Frank flipped through channel after noisy channel. Suitably distracted, she bickered with him for a few minutes, while Andy and Richard watched, conversing quietly in the background. At one point, Frank flipped to a sports channel, and both Richard and Andy leaned forward.

“Who’s playing, Frank?” Richard asked.

“Who cares?” Frank grumbled, already stabbing a finger at the remote again.

“No, go back!” Andy swatted the back of her grandfather’s armchair. “I think it was the latest Bengals game! I missed that one!”

“They’re a shit team anyway.” Frank countered, ignoring Andy’s affronted gasp. “Ah, here we go.”

Everyone in the room besides Frank groaned when he stopped flipping channels.

“Not sailing!” Andy sagged back into the couch.

Elizabeth joined in as well. “Again, dad? You’ve already seen this race!” 

He reached up with one hand and lowered his hearing aid. 

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at him then she huffed, and glanced towards the hallway. “Where is she, anyway? Did she fall into the toilet?”

Richard shrugged. “Phone call, maybe?”

“Doubt it,” Andy answered. “She doesn’t own a phone. I’ll go get her.” 

Andy stood and strode towards the hallway, and as she did so, she spotted her mother mouthing silently to her father:  _ ‘Who doesn’t own a phone?”  _ to which he shrugged. 

The hallway lights were on, but the bathroom door was open with nobody inside. Frowning in puzzlement, Andy peeked into the study by the stairs. No luck. She walked past the next door — a linen closet — and pushed open the door at the far end of the hallway. The lights hadn’t been turned on, but a streetlamp outside shone a pale watery reflection through the room as dusk began to fall. Her parent’s luggage was sprawled along the ground for their stay during the week. 

Miranda sat at the edge of the queen sized bed in the dark silence of the spare bedroom, very still but for the fact that she was repeatedly flicking the tips of her fingers. She stared down at her hands as she did so, but her expression was not anxious, simply blank, almost calm. The moment Andy cleared her throat to announce her presence however, Miranda stopped and clenched her hands together in her lap. 

“You doing ok?” Andy asked, lingering in the doorway for a moment before walking in and sitting on the bed beside Miranda. The mattress dipped beneath their combined weight, and the old springs creaked.

Miranda lifted one of her shoulders in a half-shrug, as if trying to rid herself of cobwebs that had cottoned onto her clothes. “Fine. I needed a moment of quiet.”

“Do you want me to go?” Andy asked, ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

But Miranda only said, “No. You can stay.”

Her tone wasn’t dismissive or reproachful, so Andy let her full weight sink back down onto the bed. Their thighs brushed, and Miranda twitched, but did not move away. 

“I don’t remember you ever doing this kind of thing at big events in the past,” Andy pointed out, curious but not recriminating.

“Mmm,” Miranda hummed. The corner of her mouth twitched in a tell-tale smirk. “Then you weren’t paying much attention.”

Andy rolled her eyes and nudged their shoulders together, earning another squeak from the mattress. “Oh, please. Back then, I had everything about your routine memorised.”

Straightening, Miranda arched an eyebrow at her. “And when I would disappear into the privacy of a restroom for fifteen minutes every few hours? What did you think I was doing? Powdering my nose?” 

“I tend not to pry when someone’s been in the bathroom for that long,” Andry replied dryly. 

With a soft huff, Miranda shook her head, but her smile was short-lived. She announced without preamble, “I quit smoking in the nineties, and haven’t touched a cigarette since, but now — now, I am this close to stealing one of your grandfather’s cigars.” 

“You could, if you want. I’m sure he’d enjoy sharing a smoke with someone,” Andy offered.

At that, Miranda clenched her hands together more tightly. “Absolutely not. Breaking bad habits is hard enough, but for people like me it’s -” She pinched her lips together before finishing with, “Let’s just say that you should count yourself lucky you didn’t have to deal with me during the summer of ‘98, and leave it at that.” 

Andy tried to lighten the mood with a grin. “I bet you were an absolute fiend.”

“Darling, you have no idea.” 

Casting her mind back, Andy scoured her memory for clues about the little things Miranda would do for outside sensation — how particular she was about her surroundings down to the last petal of the bouquets on her desk every morning, how she would toy with her glasses at her throat, clicking the slender arms of her spectacles as she held forth on her duties, or the rap of her fingers against a tabletop during long meetings, which most people associated with her bored ire, rather than the need for repetitive physical stimulus.

Andy placed her hand over Miranda’s, relishing the warmth of even such simple contact. “You want to stay here longer?”

Breathing deeply, Miranda shook her head. “No. Let’s go.”

Patting her hand once, Andy stood. She was followed closely by Miranda as they left the room and walked back down the hallway. The only one left in the living room was Frank. When Andy gave him a curious look, he jerked his head toward the kitchen and grunted, “They went to finish preparing dinner.”

“Thanks.” Andy turned to Miranda. “Do you want to stay here, or -?”

In answer, Miranda started walking towards the kitchen. As the two of them rounded the corner, they came upon Andy’s parents squabbling over the oven. Plates and bowls of vegetables were stacked on the kitchen counter, waiting to go out onto the dining room table just a few paces from the kitchen island. Elizabeth was shaking a finger at her husband, but the effect was thoroughly less threatening with her wearing flowery oven mitts. 

“What’s wrong?” Andy sniffed at the air. “I don’t smell anything burnt.”

If anything her dad only looked amused, and he put an arm around his wife’s shoulders, “Your mother, in her infinite wisdom, forgot to turn the bottom oven on.”

Elizabeth swatted at his arm with an oven mitt. “Be serious, Richard! We only have vegetables and pie!”

He retracted his arm with a grin, “Well, I call dibs on the pie.”

With a groan, Elizabeth peered into the oven in question, which was only just beginning to pre-heat. “Goodbye, pork roast.”

“It’s not that bad,” Andy laughed. “I’ll help set the table.”

From the side, Andy heard Miranda mutter, “Oh, for -!” before Miranda stepped forward. Her wand was drawn, and she waved Andy’s parents out of the way with an imperious sweep of her hand. “Move.”

Exchanging quick looks, they nonetheless stepped away. Turning her back on them, Miranda faced the dining room table situated just beside the kitchen, and brandished her wand as though it were a sword. The dining table lengthened, its woodgrain growing dark and lustrous before it was spread with a rich red cloth. Plates and cutlery sprouted from the surface, fine china and glass goblets rimmed with bands of gold. A feast for kings churned into existence at the centre of it all, a massive glazed ham spotted with cloves, roast vegetables, salads, and no less than three variations of pie complete with a large chocolate bunny festooned with a crown of flowers. She’d even summoned another fresh cup of coffee for herself, and a jug of fragrant mulled wine for the others.

Circling the table, Miranda examined her handiwork with a frown. At one point, she paused to re-upholster the chairs with a disdainful sniff and a flick of her wand. “Acceptable,” she announced, before seating herself at the table and tucking her wand away.

Andy’s parents gaped, jaws slack, and Andy held her breath, waiting for their reaction. Meanwhile, Miranda rolled her eyes and took a delicate sip of her coffee. “Andrea, I may not understand your reluctance to use magic in front of your parents, but, really, you should acclimate them better than this.”

That seemed to snap Richard and Elizabeth out of their daze. 

“So much for a home-cooked meal,” Elizabeth grumbled. 

“Not that it doesn’t look great!” Richard added with a forced smile. 

Clearing her throat, Andy moved toward the table to sit beside Miranda. “I haven’t had much opportunity to use magic at home, is all,” she said.

Miranda paused, tilting her head to one side to study Andy’s face. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of your skill. You’re more powerful than you know. Otherwise the Ministry wouldn’t allow you to traverse the dangers of your new job, after all.”

Andy froze.

Oh, no.

“Dangers?” Elizabeth's face screwed up in puzzlement, and she turned her frown upon Andy. “At the animal shelter?”

Miranda stared between them.  _ “The what?”  _ she choked in disbelief. 

When Andy had rung up her parents six months ago with the news that she'd left  _ The Prophet  _ and started to work at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, she hadn't gone into great detail about the nature of her work in the Beast Division. Or, rather, she had specifically gone out of her way to make the job sound as pleasant and harmless as possible. The last thing she needed was her parents panicking every time they got wind of Andy traipsing off to Ireland to handle a rogue Kelpie.

Biting her lip, Andy glanced to heaven for help, but only the white-painted ceiling's silence answered. When she looked back down, both of her parents and Miranda were watching her with varying degrees of bewilderment. “I — uh —” Andy floundered. “I mean, it's not really an animal shelter. It's quite a large operation. Government department level stuff, really. Animal control services. Kind of.”

“Like dog-catching?” Richard asked, sounding like he didn't actually want the answer to his question.

“Yeah,” Andy said slowly, drawing out the word. “You might say we deal with exotic breeds.” Of the three-headed variety. “And other animals too, like snakes.” When Miranda shot Andy her most incredulous glower, Andy added weakly, “Big snakes. Really — uh —  _ really big _ snakes.”

“Andrea Sachs -” Elizabeth glowered. 

Oh, shit  _ fuck.  _

Andy groaned and rubbed at her forehead. “Mom, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal! Really!”

“Is that so?” Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. She removed the flower-patterned oven mitts and threw them onto the kitchen counter. “If it’s not ‘a big deal’ then why didn’t you tell us in the first place? Are you putting yourself in grave danger? Is she putting herself in grave danger?” The last question was aimed at Miranda, who sipped at her coffee and refused to answer. 

“It’s not -! Ok, so it’s exciting! So, I like a bit of adventure! So, what!” Andy dropped into the chair next to Miranda with a huff. 

Richard was studying his daughter’s face very closely, worry etched into his creased brow. “But you’re taking care of yourself, right? You’re taking precautions?”

_ “Precautions?”  _ Elizabeth echoed. “She’s out there fighting monsters and God knows what, and you want to make sure she’s taking  _ ‘precautions’?” _

Elbows propped on the dining room table, Andy put her head in her hands. “I’m careful. I swear, I’m as careful as I can be in my line of work.”

“Well, now I’m reassured!” 

“Liz-” Richard tried to say.

“Richard, don’t -!”

Dragging her hands through her hair, Andy swallowed past the lump in her throat. This was the last conversation she wanted to have, today of all days. Karma was a complete and utter bitch. “I know I should’ve told you sooner, and I’m sorry -” Her mom opened her mouth to speak, but Andy forged on, putting as much steel into her words as she could muster. “-But I love what I do. I love working with magical creatures. I always have.”

Miranda, who had remained a silent bystander up until this point, said softly, “Andrea is exceptionally good at her job.” 

Elizabeth scoffed. “And you’re suddenly an expert in magical creatures, too? Does your job whittling magic sticks require you to slay dragons, or something?”

Miranda’s eyes darkened. “Yes.” 

A shocked silence settled over the room. Andy’s parents, eyes wide, were too stunned to speak. Finally Richard gave a nervous chuckle, “You’re joking, right? You must be joking. Dragons? I mean, really -”

Miranda turned an accusing glare upon Andy. “You really haven’t told them anything, have you?”

Andy winced. “I don’t want them to be upset.”

“Do they know you’ll outlive them by at least a century?” Miranda pressed, her jaw squared, her expression intense. “As a parent, I would hope my own daughters would tell me when something so material affects their lives.”

“Yes!” Andy said, feeling the panic rise in her chest. “Yes, of course I told them that, at least! They know! You guys -” she implored her parents, “You guys remember that conversation, right? About how witches and wizards age differently?”

Richard nodded, but Elizabeth looked like she wanted to be sick. 

With a sigh, Miranda lifted her mug of coffee to her lips. “I don’t suppose there are any other life-altering topics we ought to discuss while we’re here?”

“Well -” Andy said.

Miranda shot her a flat look. “I was joking.”

This time when Richard spoke, daring to take a step forward, he settled his hands on the back of a chair as if to sit, but made no motion to do so. “In terms of lifespans,” he started very carefully, “are you two -?”

Miranda went stock still, while Andy stuttered for how to best respond. “Miranda will probably outlive me,” she said, ignoring Miranda’s sharp look in her direction. “I mean -” Andy nudged Miranda’s shoulder with her own. “Your family must have a decent average lifespan, right? How old was your mom when she died?”

Miranda’s hand tightened around her mug, but her voice was smooth when she answered, “Fifty-seven.”

“See? I — oh.” Andy trailed off abruptly. Miranda avoided meeting anyone's eye. Clearing her throat, Andy started to ask, “I thought -?”

Delicately, Miranda placed the mug on the table, but continued to stroke one finger over the handle as she spoke. “A significant number of that side of my family died young. In the War.”

“Which war?” Richard asked, trying to keep his voice level, to sound like the reasonable party in the room. Neither he nor his wife had taken a seat, and now he gripped the back of one chair with a white-knuckled fists. “Korea, or Vietnam, or -?”

“The First Wizarding War.” Miranda tapped her finger against the side of the empty mug, and the click of her nail was a bright sound that flashed like bronze. “They chose the wrong side, and they paid for it. And good riddance.”

Andy went pale. She had known that side of Miranda's family was — as Miranda always said whenever pressed for information on the subject —  _ 'old-fashioned’ _ but she had never presumed that they were Dark wizards. 

Meanwhile Andy's parents exchanged puzzled glances. Elizabeth opened her mouth, and Miranda darted a quick, panicked look at Andy that spoke volumes. Anyone else might have missed it, the gesture was so small, but to her, Miranda might as well have started tapping S.O.S. on the table. Before either of her parents could speak up, Andy burst out with the first thing she could think of, “Miranda and I are moving in together.”

Now it was Miranda’s turn to glance up at the ceiling as if praying for a quick and merciful death.

“Well, this day just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?” Andy’s mom said, her words flippant but her tone dark. 

Andy flushed red. “It’s -! It’s a good thing! I’m really happy. And, you know what? Miranda’s right. I shouldn’t keep things like this from you. It’s important to me, and it’s important to me that you know.”

Andy’s mother was too speechless to reply. Meanwhile, Richard squeezed the back of the chair tightly for a moment, before releasing it and lowering his hands to his sides. “Andy, don’t you think this is all a little much?”

“No,” Andy said firmly. She had no idea how to tell them how it was her idea all along, how excited she’d been when Miranda had accepted. How on earth was she supposed to tell them that she’d had to coax Miranda into the idea, step by step? 

Richard gestured between the two of them. “And I assume you’re moving into her place?”

“Yeah. It’s the most logical solution,” Andy replied. “Her place is - uhm - bigger.”

A lot bigger. She didn’t say how much, though. 

“And that’s alright? You’re sure about this?” he pressed.

Before Andy could open her mouth to speak, she heard Miranda say, “I want her there.”

“You’re mad,” Elizabeth breathed. “You’ve both completely lost your _ — _ ” She shook her head and covered her eyes with one hand. 

“Mom, I’m not -”

Wrenching her hand from her face, Elizabeth spoke to Andy as though Miranda weren’t there, “She’s as old as I am! And famous! And God only knows how rich and powerful! Even if she were a man, I wouldn’t like it! It’s too unbalanced, and you’re in over your head!”

Throughout the whole speech, Miranda’s face had gotten more and more red. Her jaw was clenched. “If you have something to say to me,” Miranda growled. “Then say it.”

Andy’s mom rounded on Miranda. She even took a step forward before crossing her arms and stopping in the kitchen doorway. “Fine! I don’t trust you to treat my daughter well. I look at you and I see a conniving, power-hungry, twice-divorced -!” 

“Liz!” Richard said. 

“Well, it’s true, Richard! She’s going to trample all over Andy and throw her away, just like she always does!”

“Mom!” Andy yelled, aghast. 

Miranda on the other hand didn’t say anything. Her face wasn’t red anymore. Now, it was white, and her hands were clenched into shaking fists. She placed her hands in her lap, out of sight. When she spoke, her voice was as wintry as her eyes. “I don’t want your approval, and I don’t need it. I am here because Andrea wanted it. And if that’s what it takes to make her happy, then so be it. I will make an appearance for every holiday, every reunion, every minor cousin’s birthday. I will bring my daughters. I will make small talk and–“ Miranda bared her teeth in an incredibly unpleasant smile, “ _ —be nice.  _ But I will not stand idly by and let you discredit a relationship that I worked very hard for, and that I will continue to work very hard for.”

“Until what?” Elizabeth snapped. “At what point does this become just another one of your failed promises?”

“Liz, please. Let’s not do this right now -” Richard tried to get a word in edgewise. 

Miranda’s eyes darkened to a stormy grey. Her voice lowered to a dangerous hiss, “I will do everything it takes for as long as it takes.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? As long as it takes to do what?”

“To keep her with me.”

Though Miranda hadn’t raised her voice in the slightest, her declaration seemed to ring in the air. Nobody spoke. It was hard to breathe. The tension in the room felt heavy and gelatinous, and time seemed to slow to a crawl. 

Andy’s grandad shuffled into the room. He seemed not to feel the overall vibe, because he trundled on over to the head of the table and lowered himself gingerly into the seat, his bones creaking. His eyes appeared overly large and owlish behind his large spectacles, and he scooted his chair closer to the table. Frowning, he looked up at Andy’s mom and said, “The food looks good. Did you buy a new tablecloth, Liz?”

Abruptly Miranda stood, her chair screeching back on the linoleum floor. Fixing both Richard and Elizabeth in turn with a look that was piercing and dark, she said in that overly-sweet voice, “Thank you for your hospitality. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Then, she turned to Andy, and her voice had returned to its usual register, which was the only indication Andy had that at least Miranda wrath wasn’t aimed at her. “I’ll be waiting outside. Come find me when you’re ready to go.”

Andy tried to say ‘OK’ but the words got stuck in her throat, so she just nodded. Her parents stood aside to let Miranda pass, moving away as if afraid to touch her, as if she could scorch them to ash with so much as a sidelong glance. 

“You two heading out so soon?” Andy’s grandad asked. “We haven’t even eaten yet.”

“Yeah,” Andy said thickly. She refused to cry here in front of her parents. Maybe later. Instead, she stood and leaned over to press a kiss to her grandad’s whiskered cheek. “Eat an extra slice of pie for me?”

Unlike before, Elizabeth and Richard converged on Andy when she tried to pass. She had to slip by them to escape into the living room, and even then her mom followed. Andy made a beeline for the coat closet by the front door, yanking it open and pulling out her jacket. 

“Andy -” her mom started to say, but clamped her mouth shut when Andy looked at her. Whatever she saw in Andy’s eyes made her pale.

Keeping her voice hushed so that her grandfather couldn’t hear anything, Andy said, “You know, I really thought we could do this, that we could all just get along for a day or two, but even a few hours is too much to ask, apparently.”

“It’s just — it’s all so fast. You’re moving so fast, honey.” Elizabeth’s eyes shone, and she sounded strangled. “How on earth are we supposed to keep up?”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Andy balled her hands into fists, and the jacket fabric crumpled in her grip. “It’s not fast enough! I want more! I want -!” Shaking her head, Andy stuffed her arms into her jacket and pulled it around her shoulders. She didn’t bother doing up the front. “I love her. And I’m going to make this work with or without you.” 

And with that, Andy wrenched the front door open and stepped out into the cold. The door slammed shut behind her. It was snowing in earnest by now, blanketing the sidewalk in white. Her feet were cold. Looking down, Andy realised that in her haste to leave, she’d left her boots inside. Well, there was no way she was going back in to fetch them now.

She was half afraid Miranda would have left without her, but a quick look over proved that Miranda was waiting just a few paces away on the porch. Her arms were crossed, and she was tapping her fingers, staring out onto the street through the lazy drift of snowfall. When Andy shuffled her feet, bare but for her woollen socks, Miranda turned to face her. “Shall we?”

Glum, Andy nodded, but paused. “I don’t -” she admitted. “I don’t think I can stomach apparating right now.”

“I can accompany you to the nearest floo station?” Miranda offered.

Andy shook her head and stuffed her hands into her coat pockets. “Thanks, but it’s OK. You can apparate back. Besides, I think I’d like a bit of a walk alone.”

Nate and any number of Andy’s previous boyfriends would have wilted at the idea that Andy needed space, but Miranda just nodded. In a clap like distant thunder and the smell of scorched ozone, Miranda vanished on the spot. Andy looked at where she had stood moments before, unmoving. Then with a tired sigh, Andy pulled out her wand, summoned herself a new pair of boots, and stepped out onto the snow-strewn street.

 

* * *

Back at Miranda’s London townhouse, the windows were dark with rain. The interior was lit with warm amber witchlight, and Andy stepped through the study’s fireplace to find Miranda pacing the second floor landing. Brushing the ash from her robes, Andy trudged up the spiral staircase to join her. Andy’s nose was still red with cold, but she removed her jacket and slung it over a decorative baluster. Miranda was tapping at her mouth as she walked, greeting Andy with raised eyebrows and nothing more. Andy opened her mouth, but the words were drained from her. Instead, she sighed and leaned her hip along the smoothly polished bannister, watching Miranda’s slow pacing. 

“I won’t need to go into the office tomorrow,” Miranda announced without preamble. “They weren’t expecting me until the day after, anyway.” When Andy didn’t say anything, Miranda cleared her throat and continued, “I can help you move in, if you’re still that way inclined.”

Andy blinked in surprise. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Yeah, of course. I’d appreciate the help.”

Briskly, Miranda nodded. 

Something in Andy’s chest tightened, like a snake wrapped around her lungs and squeezing. “Miranda, I'm sor -” 

Before Andy could even strangle the words out, Miranda held up a hand. “Don't,” she said, though her voice lacked its earlier sharpness. She sounded tired, if nothing else. “You don't have to apologise for the actions of your parents. I know that better than most.”

“Yes, but -” Andy cast about for the words to express how guilty she felt about the whole ordeal. How it was all her idea to begin with. How it wouldn't have happened if she hadn't — “Can I at least make it up to you?”

Miranda arched an eyebrow at her, and — there. Some of her usual fire. Her vim and verve. Her contempt for others. Some hint that things were still normal, that she was still as she ever was: unapproachable as the dawn. “I still want to murder your parents,” Miranda growled. “Though I won't.”

Andy snorted. “Wow. Thanks.”

Miranda waved a hand, and her tone was sarcastic when she said, “Only the best for my -” but here she paused with a scowl in Andy's direction, not knowing exactly what to call her.

Andy squirmed, and opened her mouth to change the topic. Before she could speak however, Miranda said: “In any case, it wasn't as bad as I'd imagined it would be.”

Andy's eyes widened. “You -?” She choked. “You thought it would be -?”

Miranda frowned. “Well, of course I did. What did  _ you  _ expect? Roses and fairies?”

“Oh.” Andy felt a burning behind her eyes. She tried to fight it back. “No, I guess not. I'd just hoped -”

For a long moment Miranda studied her as if puzzled by the pained expression on Andy's face. Then, she brushed it aside, “You worry too much. They'll come around. They care for you, of course. Though, they'll never care much for me,” she added darkly. “Not that it matters.”

_ “Oh.” _ Andy said again. She could feel her throat constricting, yet could do nothing to stop it.

It didn't matter. Of course, it didn't matter. Nothing about this mattered at all. How could she have been so -?

Miranda was scowling, both fiery and apprehensive at the same time. Slowly, her brow unknit, and her expression grew more and more alarmed at whatever she saw on Andy's face. She stepped forward, hesitating for a moment before reaching up to tuck Andy’s hair behind her ear. “Like I said: it wasn’t so bad.”

Andy bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling, but she couldn’t keep the tremour from her voice. She ducked her head so that Miranda wouldn’t see the tears at the corners of her eyes. “I want them to like you.”

Miranda moved her hand down so that she stroked her thumb along the nape of Andy’s neck. “They will never like me,” she murmured. They stood close enough that the long hems of Miranda’s robes brushed against Andy’s ankles. “But they will tolerate me. You shouldn’t ask for more than they’re able to give. That only ever leads to disappointment.”

Swallowing thickly, Andy nodded. She managed a watery smile, and sniffed. “Sounds like you’re talking from experience.”

“Mmm.” Miranda carded her hand through Andy’s hair, studying the way the strands glimmered darkly against her fingers.

“You’ll have to tell me about that sometime.”

At that, Miranda’s movements faltered. She continued after a moment. When Andy looked up at her, it was to find a contemplative furrow between Miranda’s brows. 

“When you’re ready, I mean,” Andy added before she could stop herself, afraid of ruining whatever moment was blooming between them. 

Miranda fixed her with a long thoughtful look. She removed her hand from Andy’s hair, only to lay her open palm on Andy’s shoulder. “Is marriage really something you want?”

Her tone was questioning yet gentle. She watched Andy so earnestly, that Andy couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss her. Miranda’s hand tightened on Andy’s shoulder, but did not push her away, allowing the kiss to go from sweet to fierce in an instant. 

After a moment, Andy pulled back and confessed, “All I’ve ever wanted is you. More of you. In whatever form I can get.”

Miranda pulled her in for another kiss. “Alright.”

Andy’s hands were still cold from her forty-minute walk through the snow. She fumbled with the clasps of Miranda’s cloak before managing to slip it from her shoulders and toss it aside. Andy’s shirt quickly followed. Miranda hissed when Andy’s fingers found bare skin, and she twitched. On most days, neither of them were very content to lie back and take it, but today Miranda allowed herself to be pushed back until her knees hit the edge of the mattresses stacked on the ground. With a grunt of surprise, Miranda fell back onto the mattress with Andy’s weight atop her. 

“I thought -?” Miranda said as Andy tugged up the heavy skirts above her knees. “I thought you’d want to talk?”

“Later.” 

Andy leaned forward to capture her mouth in a searing kiss. She gave up on taking Miranda’s skirt off, and scrambled instead at the garter clips holding her stockings in place. She groaned into the kiss when Miranda managed to unhook her bra, palming one of Andy’s breasts. Tugging aside Miranda’s underwear, Andy gracelessly stuck her hand between Miranda’s legs, making Miranda gasp.

It was quick, and even after Miranda had ground down on Andy’s fingers to orgasm, Andy’s head continued to buzz with heat. Miranda’s eyes were screwed up, her teeth clenched as she slowly came down. Taking her hand away, Andy began pulling at Miranda’s clothes. It was suddenly very important to her that Miranda be stripped bare and writhing beneath her. She jerked at the buttons of Miranda’s blouse, accidentally ripping one off in her haste. Meanwhile, Miranda was yanking at Andy’s jeans, her eyes still glazed.

By the time they managed to rid themselves of their clothes, Andy was breathing harshly. She sucked at Miranda’s neck, biting down and earning a cry for her efforts. The sound was loud enough, that Andy pulled back, startled.

“Too hard?” Andy panted.

“No.”

“Again?”

“Yes!”

Miranda grabbed a fistful of Andy’s hair and tugged her back down for another kiss. When Andy moved to the other side of Miranda’s neck, Miranda trailed her hand down between them, touching Andy’s inner thigh. With a sharp inhalation, Andy grabbed Miranda’s wrist and pinned it to the mattress beside her head. “Not yet.”

Miranda whined, but made no move to touch Andy after her wrist was released. She tilted her head back as Andy proceeded to kiss and suck and bite at every patch of skin she could get her mouth on. Andy couldn’t keep her hands off of Miranda, running her palms across the planes of her stomach, the dip of her waist, cupping her ass and urging her closer until they were pressed against one another from hip to chest. 

“God,” Andy groaned, feeling light-headed as Miranda rocked against her. “I love you.” She kissed Miranda hard. “You know that right? I don’t say it to you enough.”

Eyes still closed, Miranda nodded furiously. “Yes. Yes, I -” 

She bit off a moan when Andy worked a hand between them and slipped three fingers into her. When she reached up to stifle herself, Andy nudged Miranda’s arm away with her forehead. “No, don’t do that. Please, don’t -”

So instead, Miranda grasped at the sheets beside her head. Her cheeks and neck were flushed. Her breath began to hitch with every movement of Andy’s hand. “Can I -?” Miranda swallowed and opened her eyes to look at Andy. “Can I touch you now?”

“Yeah,” Andy breathed. “God, yeah.”

The moment Miranda’s fingers found her clit, Andy bucked with a whine. Atop the clothes-strewn sheets, they moved. Andy’s knees and the elbow propping her up began to ache, but she ignored them. She pressed the heel of her hand against Miranda, and watched her unravel with rapt fascination, body going tense. 

“You’re wonderful,” Andy whispered, kissing her when Miranda had finished. “And impossible. And -”

Miranda curled her fingers, and Andy saw white. 

Afterwards, Andy sprawled atop Miranda, who kept her fingers buried inside. Together they listened to their breathing until it steadied. When Miranda slowly removed her fingers, Andy tensed once more, brief. Then, she swung her leg over, and rolled onto her side, so that she was plastered against Miranda’s arm. 

“Feeling better?” Miranda asked.

Andy nodded into Miranda’s shoulder, feeling her fringe stick to her forehead. “Unh-huh.”

“Mmm. Good.”

Rain washed down the tall windows between the floor to ceiling bookshelves. Encloistered in the warmth of Miranda’s home —  _ their  _ home — Andy felt the tension run from her shoulders. She was almost snoozing, when Miranda breached the silence. 

“My mother was a very skilled witch. Very powerful,” Miranda said. “From what I understand, during the War she specialised in creating Inferi for the Dark Lord’s army.”

Andy lifted her head to watch Miranda speak, her eyes wide. She’d heard of Inferi, corpses reanimated with Dark magic, but she’d never had to encounter one in person before. Andy shivered, and hoped she never had to.

Miranda continued without pause. “She died in the final years of the War, along with scores of her kin. My half-sisters and I were the only ones left to our name, and they were written out of the will. I inherited my family’s fortune the same year I was accepted to Hogwarts, with no prior knowledge about my abilities or my mother’s family. After growing up with next to nothing, suddenly at the age of eleven I had the sole rights to a vault in Gringotts filled with gold and priceless treasures, and not a single clue what to do with any of it. My half-sisters were in their late twenties by that point, and had already committed themselves to hating me for everything that I was: raised by muggles, yet magically gifted. As if I existed just to spite them. And I suppose, in a way, I did.”

Chewing at her lower lip, Miranda exhaled with a shake of her head. “It’s in the past, now. I fashioned myself a new name, and never looked back.” 

“What was their family name?” Andy dared to ask.

Miranda pursed her lips, but answered regardless. “Deadlock.”

Andy waited for Miranda to say more, but when she didn’t, Andy kissed her shoulder. “You didn't have to tell me all that, if you didn’t want to,” Andy said. “Not that I don't like learning more about you, but — It's just — I don't want to push you too much.”

“You don't,” Miranda reassured her in an uncharacteristically gentle tone. “And I wanted to tell you. So, I told you.”

The air was beginning to cool the sweat at the small of Andy’s back. She shivered, but made no motion to stand and take a shower, no matter how much she may have needed one by this point. Moments like these were too precious, too few and far between to waste. So, she curled up closer to Miranda, and was relieved when Miranda merely put an arm around her. Long gentle fingers traced circles along Andy’s spine. 

After the silence stretched for a few long peaceful moments, Andy said, “I appreciate what you did earlier. Defending what we have together, I mean. It meant a lot to me. Not that I would’ve let my parents come between us,” she added hastily. “I just -”

Andy trailed off, when she glanced up to find Miranda staring at her as if she’d sprouted a pair of horns. 

“Did you really think I wouldn’t have fought for this relationship?” Miranda asked in her most incredulous tone of the night.

Flushing, Andy stammered, “N-No! What? That’s not what I meant to -!” She rose up on her elbows to get a better look of Miranda’s face, but Miranda was scowling fiercely at her now. “I know this relationship is important to you. Of course, I know that.”

“Good.” Miranda fidgeted with her sticky fingers, running the blunted crescent of her nails against the opposite palm over and over again until she realised what she was doing, and scowled. Clasping her hand into fists by her side, she announced, “After Paris, after you left, well — It didn’t exactly inspire me with confidence.”

Where the hell was this coming from?  _ Paris? _ With a humourless smile, Andy shook her head. “Come on. That was ages ago! Give me some fucking credit.”

“For the last year I've been waiting for you to leave me,” Miranda said, and suddenly her voice was very hushed, very small. 

Andy stared at her. “You -?” she spluttered. “You - You still thought I would just  _ go? _ Just like that? After all we’ve had to -? How the hell could you possibly believe that I would do that?”

Rather than back down however, Miranda met Andy's gaze, her own inscrutable. “Past experience.”

Andy felt herself flush, then go pale, then a little green. Oh, God. A year, and then Paris, when she'd up and left without so much as a  _ 'by your leave.’  _

“That’s-” Andy croaked. “That’s different.”

“Is it, now?” Miranda mused. She tilted her head and swept her sweaty hair from her brow with the back of one hand, mindful of her messy fingers. “Do you know what my longest relationship was?”

Mutely, Andy shook her head.

Miranda was wiping her fingers on the bedsheets, and not meeting Andy’s eye. “Three years. That was with Greg, my first husband. Then barely two with Stephen. And now -” She trailed off. 

The countdown. Tick of the clock. Andy’s head buzzed with static at the notion that from the very beginning Miranda had been so sure this wouldn’t last, that she’d been contenting herself with what they had until Andy left. Meanwhile, Andy had been going through life playing for keeps. Too bad she’d never told Miranda that.

_ Good one, Sachs. _

When she finally found her voice, Andy heard herself say, “I’m not one of your husbands! We’re-! We’re not even married!”

“We might as well be.” Miranda’s expression shifted; it could only be described as thunderous now. “That old boss of yours.  _ David.” _

Well and truly lost, Andy scrunched up her face and asked, “What about him?” Sure, she met Dave every once and a while for a cup of coffee at Rosa Lee’s — they had remained friends even after she left for her new job with the Ministry, after all — but Andy had no clue what he had to do with this conversation. 

“He once told me that he was amazed I’d  _ ‘let you go.’ _ ” Miranda’s lip curled at the memory. When she looked at Andy, her eyes burned with fire. “I don’t _ ‘let things go’, _ Andrea. I hold onto them fast. That’s what life is: climbing up and clawing out a space for yourself, and clinging to it no matter how much it burns.” 

“Hey,” Andy murmured and touched Miranda’s face, gently smoothing the backs of her fingers across across her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Something in Miranda softened at the touch, only to disappear once more when she rolled her shoulders and clasped her hands over her naked stomach. When she spoke, her tone was officious and clipped; she may as well have been delivering orders from her office chair. “My daughters spend more time with you than they spend with their father, and I daresay they enjoy your company a great deal more than they ever did Stephen’s.”

Taken aback, Andy pulled her hand away and blinked. “What are you trying to -? What’s the point of telling me this?”

Miranda continued as if Andy hadn’t spoken at all. “You’re moving in this week, and I’ve already had the House Elves clean the master bedroom. Caroline’s been pestering me to ask if you’ll attend her next Quidditch match. Isolt invited me to her midnight soirée in New York next month, and specifically asked if you would be coming as my plus one. She — and everyone else in the world, it would seem — think you’re  _ ‘good for me’ _ or something along those lines -”

“Miranda,” Andy said. Her mouth went dry, and her tongue felt too thick for speech.

“And, honestly, if I have to hear someone refer to either of us as  _ ‘girlfriend’  _ one more time, I will hex them six ways to Tuesday.”

Eyes widening, Andy blurted out, “Are you proposing?”

Miranda stiffened. “I am proposing -” she tripped on the word and had to clear her throat before saying, “I am  _ proposing _ that we call ourselves something more ceremonious.” Miranda’s eyes darted to Andy to gauge her reaction. Seeing the absolutely stunned look on Andy’s face, Miranda blinked, and her cheeks went an appealing pink. “And I’m proposing you tell Caroline you’re going to her Quidditch match, so that she’ll stop driving me mad.”

“Yeah.” Andy swallowed, but couldn’t keep the glee from lighting up her face. “Yeah, I’ll go. Of course I’ll go. Of course. They’re good kids. I mean, they’re total brats, but they’re good kids.”

Anyone else calling her kids ‘brats’ would’ve lost a limb, but Miranda only offered Andy a taut smile that could have been called indulgent. 

Andy blundered on, knowing she was babbling now, but unable to stop herself. She was fit to bursting, and grinning like a loon. “And I’d love to accompany you to Isolt’s party or whatever. Any party. I’ll go with you to whatever old boring party you want. Just tell me the time and day, and I’ll be there.” Miranda raised her eyebrows, and still Andy forged on. “Anything you want. Whatever you want. Anytime.”

The promise hung in the air between them like a life sentence. Miranda watched her with careful scrutiny, but Andy didn’t back down. 

“I meant what I said, Andrea.” And then Miranda rooted Andy in place with a very serious look. “I will do whatever it takes for as long as it takes. If you're absolutely wedded to the idea of marriage -”

“Nice pun,” Andy said, unable to wipe the dopey smile from her face.

“-then I am willing to compromise. Though I may have to rethink that if you insist on pointing out every slip of my tongue,” Miranda added. 

Still, Andy beamed, and leaned forward so that she held her body just above Miranda's. “Oh?” she murmured, letting their bare skin brush and smirking when Miranda's breath hitched. “Because I could do with another  _ ‘slip of your tongue’ _ right about now.”

“I am trying to -” Miranda inhaled sharply when Andy traced a hand up her stomach to cup her breast. “I am trying to be reasonable. And I would appreciate you taking this seriously —  _ ah.” _

Miranda squirmed as Andy bent her head to kiss across her chest, taking one of Miranda’s nipples into her mouth and ever so softly scraping her teeth. She grasped a handful of Andy’s dark hair and tried to still the movement of her hips when Andy placed a knee between her legs. 

Her mouth full, Andy hummed before stopping and propping her chin on Miranda’s sternum to blink innocently up at her. “I am taking this seriously. I don’t know what’s going on through your head though.”

Miranda glowered, but the effect was significantly less formidable given the flush creeping up her neck. She growled, “Tell me what you’d like us to call one another in public, and then fuck me again.”

Andy laughed. “You’re lucky I think your incurable bossiness is hot.”

“You always were a glutton for punishment.”

Andy pinched Miranda’s nipple, earning her a satisfying squeak. Glutton for punishment, indeed. The hypocrite. “How about ‘partner’, then?”

At the suggestion, Miranda grimaced as if she’d bitten into a lemon.

“What’s wrong with ‘partner’?” Andy asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Miranda drawled. “I just need a moment to fish through the wardrobe for my Stetson and assless chaps.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Andy rolled their hips together so that the breath stuttered in Miranda’s chest, with the added bonus that Miranda’s eyes fluttered shut as she leaned her head back against the pillow. “Don’t forget your spurs,” Andy said, unable to keep a breathless quality from her own voice at seeing Miranda spread out beneath her. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Andy nodded in earnest. “Oh, yeah.” 

Miranda opened her eyes to glare. “Too bad. Pick something else.”

“‘Better half’?” Andy suggested.

“Only if that’s solely in reference to me,” Miranda quipped in return.

Andy wiped the smug look right off her face by dragging a hand down Miranda’s stomach and gently tracing the space where her leg met her hip. Nudging Miranda’s chin back with the bridge of her nose, Andy ghosted her lips down the column of Miranda’s neck, pausing every so often to alternatively nip at Miranda’s skin and dip her fingers between Miranda’s legs, relishing the thrum of pulse and heat against her mouth. She kissed the hollow of Miranda’s collarbone, softly, delicately, grinning when that earned her a restless whine. “‘Spouse,’ then,” she said, slowly tracing Miranda’s clit with the tip of her finger. 

By now Miranda was all but panting. One hand squeezed the pillow by her head in a death-grip, while the other clutched the sheets. Her eyes were shut. She swallowed, and her throat bobbed with the motion. 

When Miranda didn’t answer right away, Andy sucked hard at her throat. “How about it? ‘Spouse’? You like that?” She pulled back to admire her handiwork, Miranda’s flawless skin damp and reddened with dark splotches, blood pooling beneath the surface in a bruise that wouldn’t fade for days. Andy leaned forward to make another, and one of Miranda’s hands grabbed her shoulder and squeezed it in an almost painful grip.

“Yes,” Miranda gasped. “Yes, that’s - that’s fine. Don’t stop.”

She clawed at Andy’s back, and Andy slipped a single finger into her. Hips jerking forward, Miranda sought purchase, sought friction and pressure, but Andy kept her touch light. By the time Andy kissed her way down Miranda’s body and nipped her inner thigh, Miranda was squirming, her heels shifting restlessly against Andy’s lower back in an attempt to spur her on. She had to stifle a cry with one hand when Andy finally added another finger and used her mouth. 

A hand tangled in Andy’s dark hair when she was done, and Andy backed away, wiping her face and hand on the sheet that Miranda had kicked down the length of the mattress. Miranda had an arm flung over her eyes and was still panting to the ceiling, when Andy crawled back up and flopped down beside her. She made a soft noise in the back of her throat when Andy angled her head to kiss the pale underside of Miranda’s exposed wrist. 

“Care to join me for a shower?” Andy nodded into the crook of Miranda’s neck. 

Miranda hummed in agreement, but did not move. She was still catching her breath. “In a minute.”

With a chuckle, Andy tucked her head beneath Miranda’s chin, threw an arm around her torso, and held her fast.

 

* * *

Later the next day, Andy was unpacking her things in the master bedroom, when her phone rang. 

Her concentration slipped, and she nearly dropped the boxes out of midair. Only with a smart wave of her wand did she manage to not send all her worldly belongings sprawling across the floor. Nobody but her muggle parents these days rang her phone. Everyone else in her life would have sent an owl or contacted her through her Protean calendar. With her free hand, she fished the phone from the pocket of her robes. It buzzed through the fabric. 

Andy picked up the phone and held it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, champ,” her father greeted down the other end of the line. His voice sounded strained, as if he were forcing a smile onto place. It made Andy tense.

“Hey, yourself,” she replied, wary. “Everything alright?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine. Just fine.” 

“That’s good,” Andy said slowly. “How’s mom?”

“Hmm? Good! She’s — well, she’s alright. Still sulking, but she’ll get over it. I mean — she is over it, really. She just won’t admit it yet.”

With a snort, Andy lifted her wand into the air once more and gave it a flick. “Yeah, that sounds like her.” The closet door opened, and Andy’s clothes began to hang themselves in a neat row as she turned to open the next box. Tape peeled itself away from the cardboard surface, revealing glossy-paged books. Whoops. Wrong box. “So, what can I do for you?”

“Nothing!” he insisted.

“Uh-huh.”

“I just wanted to see you how were.” His voice turned to a grumble. “Don’t tell me you’re still sulking, too.”

She frowned and made a sharp figure-eight motion with the tip of her wand, sending a series of sparks racing towards the box full of shoes. “Hey! I am not sulking!” The sparks animated her shoes too quickly, and all the pairs went fleeing into the closet with a series of thumps. 

“Funny. You sound just like your mother when you say that.”

“Ok, I’m hanging up. Bye!”

“Wait, wait!” he chuckled. “Calm down there, tiger. Don’t shoot the one with the olive branch. It’s bad form.”

“Yeah well, your olive branch kind of sucks.”

“Aww, and I picked it fresh for you and everything.”

That earned a snort, and Andy grinned, feeling the warm glass of the phone press against her cheek. She lifted the large box of books into the air, sending it floating towards the door where it would be unpacked in the study.

Her dad was the next to speak, and his words came like a blow to the gut. “You should bring Miranda and her girls over for Thanksgiving this year.”

It took Andy a moment to remember how to breathe. The box almost dropped out of the air and fell to the floor. Slowly, she lowered it to the carpet in front of the door. The tip of her wand had begun to emit green and gold sparks, but she ignored it. “Yeah?” she breathed. She could feel a soft genuine smile cross her face, and couldn’t do anything to stop it. 

“Yeah,” her dad said. “I just thought — you know, they don’t really do Thanksgiving over there, so it shouldn’t interfere with your schedules much. Or at least, I hope not.”

“It should be fine,” she reassured him. “I’ll double-check though, just in case. Is anyone else bringing their spouse?”

Silence followed that question, during which Andy would have hit her forehead with her palm if not for the fact she was holding her wand. Even so, her wand burned in her hand like a rod of fire, echoing her emotions. 

“‘Spouse,’ huh?” her dad’s voice was quiet.

“Yeah, but - uh -” Andy began to tap her wand nervously against her leg. “It’s not official, or anything. We’re not — Miranda doesn’t really want to get married again. And I’m OK with that.”

For a moment, Richard said nothing. Then: “I think your cousin, Rachel, is bringing her fiancé.”

“Mark?”

“Yeah. Good guy, if a bit boring. Who actually likes golf? Which reminds me -” Her father sounded suddenly very serious, which sent a chill racing down Andy’s spine. “That whole ‘wizarding secrecy’ thing. I know it doesn’t extend to immediate family members, but I think with your cousins coming around to the farm, maybe you should -?”

Andy released the breath she’d been holding, laughing with relief. “I’ll talk to Miranda and the girls. Don’t worry about it, dad. No magical hijinks over the holidays, I promise.”

“Thanks, champ.”

Soon, they were exchanging their good-byes. Andy ended the call and tucked her phone into her back pocket, beaming in triumph at the empty master bedroom. Miranda had redecorated for her. Gone the sterile colours, and in their place wood-warm accents. The four-poster bed remained, and though Miranda still preferred to sleep in her office, Andy had become quite adept at wheedling until Miranda caved and joined her upstairs. At Andy’s bedside table Miranda had framed the picture of herself and the infant twins just like Andy had wanted. In the centre of the room, Andy all but bounced on the balls of her feet.

Leaving the box of books behind — they could wait to be stowed safely away — Andy stopped by the kitchen and brewed two quick cups of coffee before entering Miranda’s study. Inside, Miranda was standing behind The Book’s handsome lectern, and the pages shuffled with magic as she gave a lazy wave of her hand. She glanced up at Andy’s approach, but said nothing as Andy set a cup of coffee on her nearby desk. 

“Is this your idea of helping me move in?” Andy teased. Between her hands she cupped the thick porcelain mug Miranda had given her last week, relishing the heat. 

The Book settled on a blank page, then started to etch glowing glyphs onto itself, a codicil of complex runes that burned as if branded into place. Miranda raised her eyebrows and gave a haughty sniff. “I helped you pack up and apparate all your things here, didn’t I?”

“True,” Andy admitted. She sat on the edge of the desk, knowing full well that if anyone else tried that Miranda would’ve cursed them into the last decade. A series of familiar dusty tomes were stacked on the edge of the polished snakewood surface, and Andy cocked her head to read their spines. “Oh, wow, you actually use this seventh century rune compendium?”

With a hum, Miranda rounded the lectern and left The Book to its own devices, while she joined Andy. She picked up the coffee Andy had brought her, and leaned her hip against the edge of the desk. “Why else would I keep it?” 

“That explains this, then.” Grinning, Andy reached behind the books for one of the the muggle fashion magazines Miranda had purchased a week ago. It was marked with little notes that stuck from between the pages like bright flags. “Find anything else you like?”

“I suppose a few outfits in there aren’t completely terrible,” Miranda admitted, though grudgingly. She settled close beside Andy so that their elbows brushed together whenever one of them lifted their coffee for a sip. 

Andy flipped open the magazine to one of the first notes, which bookmarked an elegant Chanel spread. “A bit conservative, but still.  _ Très chic,” _ Andy said in her worst possible French accent, in the hopes that Miranda would roll her eyes. She did. 

“That one was for you, actually.” Miranda pointed to the bookmark, which had the name  _ ‘Andrea’  _ scrawled in her handwriting.

“You are  _ not  _ buying me Chanel.”

“Whyever not?” 

“Because there’s no way I’d look good in it!”

Miranda shot her a  _ ‘don’t be stupid’  _ look. “I beg to differ.”

Feeling a flush creep up her cheeks, Andy turned to the next bookmarked page. Her eyes widened. A gold silk Vauthier dress hugged the curves of a model, with a revealing slit running high up one bronzed thigh. Andy gave a nervous laugh, and lifted her coffee to her mouth.  “Ok, now I really know you’re joking.”

“Oh, no, no,” Miranda murmured. “That one’s for me.”

Andy choked and nearly inhaled coffee through her nose. Meanwhile, Miranda watched her with an impish gleam in her eye. Patting Andy’s knee, Miranda stood once more and crossed back over to The Book. With a snap of her fingers, she summoned her spectacles in a wisp of sulphurous smoke, and settled them primly on the bridge of her nose. The Book continued to emit a soft intermittent light, and Miranda sipped at her coffee as she overlooked what was being written. 

Her face still burning, Andy flipped to the next page in the fashion magazine. A comfortable silence had settled between them, but before Miranda could become too absorbed in her work, Andy said, “My dad called just now.”

“Oh?” 

“He invited us all over for Thanksgiving at the family farm.”

Miranda peered at Andy over the top of her glasses, which gleamed in the eldritch glow of The Book. “And by ‘us’ you mean -?”

Andy waved her hand between them. “You, and me, and the girls.”

“Hmm.” Sipping at her coffee, Miranda glanced at the magazine in Andy’s lap. As if already bored with the idea, she turned back to her work and said, “Next time, I’m wearing muggle clothes.” 

__

**Author's Note:**

> 1) the First Wizarding War went from 1970-1981. Miranda was born in 1967 and her mother died in 1979.
> 
> 2) Miranda’s mother’s family name “Deadlock” is a reference to “Dedlock” from Bleak House. “Princhek” was her father’s last name. Seeing as I use extensive dragon/hoarding imagery in this series (not to mention Miranda’s mother’s family being Dark wizards), I have elected to not make Miranda Jewish. I love the idea of Miranda being Jewish, but not in this universe.
> 
> 3) ‘violante in the pantry’ was actually intended to be the first section of this fic, but at the time I didn’t have the stomach to write the whole thing. Ergo, the series didn’t feel quite finished. Someone pointed out that Miranda was far too cold in ‘violante in the pantry’ and I agree. Oddly, one of my biggest pet peeves when reading other fics is Miranda being too happy too quickly. I can never imagine her as a happy person. Even here and now, when I’ve ensured she has every ingredient for happiness, I always imagine she fundamentally doesn’t understand the recipe beyond that. Miranda Priestly + Happiness = 404 page not found.
> 
> That being said, I felt that the end of ‘violante in the pantry’ wasn’t enough closure for this universe. So, I finally kicked my butt into giving this universe a final huzzah. This is the last I intend to write for ‘an argument of witches’ though certainly not the last I intend to write for this pairing.
> 
> I’ve had a wonderful time. Thank you for joining me.
> 
> x  
> Roman


End file.
